#quartusbellumevent1

@markedpotter

“Regs--!” Narcissa started to snap but it turned into more of a breathless shriek as a tangle of limbs and grabs at cross-purposes turned to shoves, to staggers, to steps backwards where no steps were and then it was just empty air under foot, empty air and falling.

All too soon that falling turned into landing, to tumbling akimbo down the staircase. Narcissa scrambled and scratched at the banister but her fingers skidded off the smooth, aged hardwood with a touch that was eerily reminiscent of just missing a Snitch -- and then it was just one long series of bumps and thuds and flyaway robes and hair tangling around her. The plush carpeting did little to blunt the sharp edges of the steps as they crashed against shoulderblades and backside, and Narcissa felt like she’d not just missed the Snitch but run afoul of a dozen Bludgers by the time her fall finally stopped with one last, somewhat squishy thump--

And then it was no longer stairs digging into her battered skin but knees and elbows and breathing, so close it almost seemed to be swirling in her own lungs, breathing and a heartbeat, a thick hot pulse so close she could near taste it--!

Narcissa opened her mouth, stretched her jaw and felt her fangs lower, sharp and white and gleaming and close, so close, she could almost taste it...and then with a strangled little gasp she snapped her mouth shut again. The prick of pain as one fang caught and pierced her bottom lip on the way went unnoticed in the flare of panic as Narcissa realized what she had so nearly done--!

She stared through the thin curtain of her tousled hair into the brown eyes of none less than one James Potter, of all the people she could have landed on, could have nearly bit -- had he seen? Did he know? Narcissa took a breath, searched for...what? An excuse? A threat? A joke to laugh it all off as some sort of pretense or prank?

@ladylycorine

Marcus straightened his sleeves, rolling back his shoulders so that he stood an inch taller. He was learning. He had dressed his best, but not so well that he had the look of someone trying too hard. His robes he had purchased especially for parties like these, and they were plain because they were the only dress robes he had in his possession. The golden embroidery was subtle, and Marcus had taken to twisting it with a spell between formal events so that it took a new design each time he wore it. Tonight, it formed a neat braid along the cuffs. Anything more would be ostentatious for one who had climbed up from a pile of corpses.

If Narcissa had noticed him hovering, she didn’t show it. But then he would never have expected either of the Malfoys to acknowledge him so openly. He was just a McKinnon (and Marcus feared that was all he would ever be)--they had no reason to. But Marcus wanted more. What, he didn’t know exactly. Answers maybe. A map, someone to tell him what the fuck he was doing. A distraction from the past and the memories that replayed in his head every time he closed his eyes, every time he got even a whiff of iron or rust.

He waited until her conversation had ended and the wix she’d been speaking to moved on. Then he made his move, standing some two feet from Narcissa, observing the flowers decorating the hedge as if he wasn’t immune to any beauty they might possess. Oh Marcus saw it alright--these flowers were luminous, clearly imbued with magic--but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. These people had so much, while Marcus had sold his soul just to have a roof over his head. 

(Of the Things You Left Behind)

Sirius Black​

There was a moment when Regulus knew everything was well and truly fucked. It wasn’t a new sensation for her. She had experienced it, and then relived it, countless times over the past year and the frequency was increasing. Most of the time she could at least say, I did not expect that. 

This time, though, she should have known better.

First, she should have known better then to grab Narcissa Black Malfoy. Second the argument should have never moved from Florence Nott’s bedchamber out into the open. Third she should have never stepped backwards. Fourth she should have never grabbed Narcissa.

No, scratch that. This went pear shaped before then when she took Attisgalli Corrective Draught without realizing it wasn’t brewed with vampire physiology in mind. Because it was making her cry blood and that was the biggest injustice of the night. 

Right before she tripped or Narcissa tripped and they both went tumbling. Narcissa went down the stairs, something commanding on her tongue. Regulus went over the banister with a oomph.

She already wanted to die the moment she hit air out of pure, self-preservative mortification.

It was no surprise later, closer to midnight then not, that Gabriel was feeling stuffy. The party was put on by Nott, after all. Nott wouldn’t know a decent party if it bit him on the arse and without Mrs. Nott it probably would have had an ending time of ten-thirty.

Which, really, would have been a blessing at this point. 

Sure the food was good, and there were plenty of drinks, but it was all so... one note. At least if the party was at the Malfoy estate Gabriel would have found other ways of making the party...interesting (in socially acceptable ways, of course).

He needed some water, maybe. Or just a quick walk in the gardens. Or...

Gabriel Greengrass had experienced many needles in his life and more than his share of potions (much to his frustration). This was neither. It cut his skin and burned through his robes (and he liked those robes!) The shriek probably would have put his son’s ear-piercing shouts to shame. The following, “What is it, what is so my chest?” No less reverberating around the room.

(when the room is empty)

Narcissa Malfoy

No one was going to do anything. A perfect opportunity to find black mail had descended upon the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet and no one had planned to do...anything. This was a newly appointed Wizengamot or government or whatever it was (the exact details had flown from her head some time ago in her heist to gather and move and do) official who could be bought with the right information and...well, Regulus hadn't exactly determined the next steps but, really, she was already doing the heavy lifting. 

And wasn't that a laugh? Regulus Black. Doing something. 

You've done a lot, she reminded herself--but none of it were known things. Remus Lupin gave her a place to stay. Marcus McKinnon visited--and she had told him, something, she was certain of it... but nothing had happened and maybe it was a dream. "I know what I'm doing." She said to her reflection and because no one else was in that room with her she said it two more times, rubbing her palms down the velvet robes she had stolen from her mother's closet. They didn't fit quite right--it was supposed to cling to her sides and hips but even after after the stolen potion there was too much space--but she loved the texture and the green of it.

She tried to put on one of the necklaces--a lovely sliver chain with a tear drop end--but the moment it touched her chest she remembered having her hands slapped away. That was years ago, she reminded herself. It did't matter. the tear drop slipped and clattered to the floor. Useless, she thought, swiping her finger under the vanity. She couldn't find it and found herself transfixed by the mirror when she looked up again.

Thats you, she thought, over and over again--sixteen times until she stopped gritting her teeth. She put everything away--not how her mother would have, but the precise way she knew it should have always been.

THE APPOINTMENT OF ALEXANDER NOTT TO THE WIZENGAMOT

Food On Offer

Baked Brie with Fresh Eden Berries Soaked in Dark Oaks Pinot Noir

Goat Cheese Marinated in White Wine with Thyme and Lightly Smoked over Mermaid Infused Tobacco

Antipesto Skewers With Kelpie Bacon and Basil

Onions, Cabbage, and Thread Noodles designed to burst with a bite of alcoholic red wine

Drinks On Offer

A Bright Night: A dark martini using licorice (black, cherry, or strawberry) flavored liquor, Dwarven Vodka, and charmed Glitter 

Giddy Pop: A mix between champagne and a dash of a Euphoria potion

@markedpotter

To Marcus, these parties were like standing on ice barefoot. Slippery and painful, but at the end of it all, numbing. Marcus hadn’t got to that numbing part yet though. He had reached stage two of the evening, where people had thrown spirits on top of their cruelty and started acting like they were burning bright with superiority. They got cocky, and that’s when they decided to use Marcus as a verbal punching bag. Talking like he wasn’t there--about him, rather than to him. Ripping his parents apart as if their murders hadn’t been punishment enough. Forgetting Marcus was supposed to die with them. Not even mentioning Marlene because even death had some dignity in it, but transitioning into a vampire? Not a chance. 

And it hurt. Marcus could feel it everywhere. He held a glass of Giddy Pop in his hand, not wanting to drink it, hating the idea of feeling happiness without them. But he just wanted to skip to the numb part. 

When Marcus first stepped through the gate onto Nott’s estate, he had scanned the garden, searching the sea of faces, and one of the faces he’d been hoping to find was James’. They didn’t even get along that well. Marcus just needed to know he was there. And so he’d kept a look out for James all through the evening, knowing if something was to kick off, he wanted to be in distance of him when it happened. Was this faith, he wondered? An irrational confidence in another person, even when that person was just as deep in shit as you were? If so, it was such a small piece of Marcus. Just a splinter. 

But now he was walking right up to him. For a moment, he didn’t speak, anger holding his tongue captive; just stood there holding onto that fucking glass. He drew in a breath. 

“These things are ridiculous.” It left his lips before he could help himself. “Have you seen what Gabriel’s serving?” He forced his lips into something shaped like a smile. “The word mermaid has been thrown around a couple times, so I’d stay away from the goat’s cheese. Is security allowed to drink at events like these?” 

@mcrningmary

It was Gabriel’s fault, waltzing Marcus in here then abandoning him to find his own way out. Marcus was here without an invitation, and he doubted the mark on his arm was enough to excuse him. They were more common these days, after all, hence why the One Army felt the need to distinguish themselves from the rest of the Dark Lord’s followers; from people like Marcus. Now Marcus was lost, and maybe just a little tipsy on Giddy Pop. Champagne went straight to Marcus’ head, and the euphoria? That had been the nudge that sent him toppling over the cliff into drunk.

Oh this wasn’t good. Not good at all. The irrational happiness induced by the potion didn’t sit well in his stomach. He felt hollowed out, the emptiness swelling until it pressed against his skin, too tight. He had to get out of here. 

Hearing footsteps behind him, Marcus spun on the spot. And there was the blond Marcus had spotted earlier. It felt crass and unkind calling her the blond. The one whose face was etched with familiarity then. The problem with losing so many was that you saw their ghosts everywhere, even in the faces of strangers. 

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he blurted, focusing on standing straight and looking sober rather than the words coming out of his mouth. 

Then he heard them, colour rising in his cheeks. Why did euphoria and alcohol feel a lot like the truth serum? He shook his head. “That... that’s not what I meant.” He swayed on the spot a little. Marcus hated being lost, but then he hadn’t known his way in a long time.